


To Kingdom Come

by alicambs



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Coercion, Emotional Manipulation, F/M, Jim is creepy, Kidnapping, M/M, Moriarty is Alive, Other, negotiating a threesome, pissed off John
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-28
Updated: 2014-01-21
Packaged: 2018-01-04 17:32:02
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 16,899
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1083734
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alicambs/pseuds/alicambs
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John misses Sherlock, he really does, but life goes on and now he has Mary and married life to look forward to. Or he did until, the supposed dead, Moriarty reappears on the scene and decides to really screw up John's life. John blames Sherlock, dead or alive he can guarantee that Sherlock is the cause!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Engagment

“Morning, Mycroft,” John says politely as the man enters. “Tea?”

Mycroft smiles. “That would be lovely, thank you,” he says, sitting down in the nearest arm chair.

John busies himself with the kettle, plates up a couple of chocolate digestives and sets up the best cups and saucers on a tray. He takes the tray through, pours the requisite amount of milk and tea into both cups and hands one to Mycroft leaving him to his own devices with the sugar bowl. 

They sit in silence sipping tea for a few minutes until, formalities obviously observed sufficiently, Mycroft stirs. “I believe you are considering ask Miss Morstan to marry you?” he asks, although the way he phrases it sounds more like a statement of fact.

“I am,” John confirms.

“Will she be moving in with you here?”

“No, we'll look for somewhere new.”

Mycroft nods his head and take a few more sips of tea. “There have been some stirrings in Moriarty's old empire,” he says leaning forward and taking a biscuit.

“I thought you'd been quite thorough in dismantling it,” John says, surprised. 

“Not thorough enough apparently.” 

“And this concerns me how?” John prompts after a few minutes of silence.

Mycroft raises his eyebrows and says nothing.

John sighs and considers the information again. “You're worried that I might still be considered a target?” he asks. “Surely that's very unlikely now after all this time?”

“Possibly, however I would prefer that you remain accessible to surveillance for your own safety John,” Mycroft says. “Hence my concern when I realised that your impending marriage meant your incipient departure from this house.

“Mary does not want to live here and I would prefer that we find somewhere of our own,” John said firmly.

“While understandable I would note that Sherlock wouldn't have wanted you to take any risks when it comes to possible threats instigated by Moriarty.”

“Then he shouldn’t have bloody jumped,” John shouts and takes a deep breath trying to calm himself. “Sherlock made his choice, and you've told me why he did it and I do understand, but the fact is he's no longer part of my life and I am no longer your responsibility, if I ever was...” He stops himself with an effort and clamps his mouth shut.

Mycroft nods, finishes his tea and stands. “I'm sorry to have upset you,” he says formally.

“Give me strength,” John mutters to himself before looking up at Mycroft. “I'll keep you informed of any changes,” he says, a little unwillingly.

“Of course,” Mycroft says, all charm now he has his way. “Thank you, John I'll see myself out.”

John sighs, clearing up the tea cups and takes them through to the kitchen. He still doesn't understand the purpose of the visit as there is little chance that Mycroft will miss noticing when he moves out or where he moves to, but he knows from long experience that trying to work out Mycroft's motives will just give him a headache. 

His mobile warbles and he reads. 'Drinks tonight, usual place? G'

He smiles and texts back a quick affirmative and checks the time. He needs to do a quick shop and check up on Mrs Hudson, she's had problems shaking off a bad chest infection and he likes to keep an eye on her, before he leaves for work.

“Freddie popped by while Mr Holmes was here,” Mrs Hudson says as he pops his head round the door. “He said that Alex was still coughing.”

“I wish Alex would come to the clinic for treatment,” John mutters.

“Too public and too official, dear,” Mrs Hudson says sensibly. 

John grimaces and nods. “Right, I'll check on him. And on that note, how do you feel?”

“Much brighter, must be your tender loving care.”

John smiles at her. “Do you need anything?”

She shakes her head. “Mrs Turner has been coming round for a chat and looking after me.” 

“Good, I'll see you tomorrow then.”

“Take an umbrella, they forecast rain for this evening,” is Mrs Hudson's parting advice as John quickly runs up the stairs and grabs his doctor's bag.

Freddie is waiting for him on the corner and leads him on a quick walk to a park bench where he finds Alex huddled in his sleeping bag. He sits up and lets John examine him as Freddie watches. Alex's lungs are slowly clearing but he's still got a hacking cough. 

“You took all the antibiotics?” John asks.

Alex nods. 

“Are you sleeping?”

“His coughing keeps me awake” Freddie says sourly. 

“You needs to sit up a bit, that will help with the phlegm,” John advises. “If you've taken the course I gave you it's just time, keeping yourself warm and drinking lots. If it goes on much longer come and see me again, OK?”

Alex nods again and Freddie grins. “Thanks doc,” he says cheerfully.

“Have you got somewhere warm for the night?” John asks.

“We're fine, honest, doc,” Freddie assure him.

John straightens up and, having learnt from past experience, checks his pockets holding out his hand to Freddie and looking sternly at him.

“Got to keep up the skills,” Freddie says and grins as he returns John's mobile and wallet. 

Alex smiles at this and Freddie reaches down and gives him a big hug. “You'll get better,” he assures him. “The doc ain't done us wrong so far has he?”

Alex shakes his head and gives a thumbs up to John who smiles down at him. “Try and keep him out of trouble,” he says and winks at Alex.

Freddie escorts him back to the corner talking brightly all the time. John has long decided that Freddie garrulous nature comes from a need to make up for Alex's silence, a silence he thinks may be fairly recent as neither Alec or Freddie appear fluent in sign language. Freddie grasps his arm and gives it a squeeze. “Thanks, doc,” he says. “Best thing I did trying to mug you.”

John laughs. “That's not what you said at the time.”

Freddie grins again and leaves. John walks back to Baker street cheered by the encounter. He likes the pair of them and wishes he could do more than supply them with good quality sleeping bags, but he's been politely frozen out when he tries to offer any help beyond that other than his doctoring skills. 

He checks his watch and walks briskly back to the flat to drop off his bag and collect his brolly before heading off to work. Shopping will have to wait.

~~~

Greg is chatting to the barman when John arrives at the pub and has already brought John a pint. They head to their favourite alcove and start to catch up. Greg's seeing Molly and is very happy. John is delighted for him and would suggest that they do more things together as a foursome, Greg and Mary get on like a house on fire and Molly and Mary have become friends, but he can't quite help feel that Molly isn't totally comfortable around him. He can only assume that he reminds her too much of Sherlock so he tries not to let it get to him. 

“How's Mary?” Greg asks.

“Good, we're having dinner tomorrow,” John says.

“And...?” Greg asks meaningfully.

John raises an eyebrow.

“Are you going to?” Greg asks again. “Oh come on John, Molly was bending my ear about you two.”

John smiles.“I'm taking her shopping for rings Saturday.”

Greg shakes him head. “Lost my bet there, I was sure you'd buy a ring for her.”

John laughs. “I wouldn’t dare buy her a ring on my own.” He pulls the pub menu near and does a quick look through. “Have you eaten, I was going to have a pizza, but they're big and I'm happy to share.”

“Had a bite at the canteen, but I'll have a couple of pieces, as long as there's no pineapple on it, pineapple doesn’t belong on a pizza.”

“Margherita?”

“Three cheese and you're on,” Greg says and John orders. 

“How about you and Molly then?” John asks after they've eaten the pizza and are nursing their pints. “Any plans to move forward or happy the way you are?”

“As we are,” Greg says. “The kids like her, we're comfortable. She's over a lot of the time, but our shifts make it difficult at times and I think we're best having our own places.”

John nods. “That reminds me, Sherlock's brother came round. Wants Mary and me to stay at the flat, or keep him informed when we move.”

“Any reason?”

“Said something about some stirring in Moriarty's ex empire and wanting to keep an eye on me,” John says and doesn’t quite mange to keep the irritation from his voice.

Greg grins at him. “Still a pompous arse then?”

John laughs. “He means well but he's so superior about it, I think that's what drove Sherlock mad.” He sighs. “God I still miss the bastard, Greg. I told him about my plans to get engaged to Mary. Said that he and Mary might well have got on as she has always wants to hear about him and how I'd have wanted him to be my best man.” He glances at Greg blank face and laughs awkwardly. “No, I'm not going mad, I visited his grave a few days ago, haven't been near it for well over a year, but I somehow felt I needed to tell him about Mary and me, daft really.”

Greg's face relaxes and he nods. 

“It was quite cathartic,” John continues. “Easier than talking to a therapist definitely, plus Sherlock couldn’t interrupt.”

“Or insult you.”

John laughs and drains his pint. “True, who'd have thought I'd miss getting insulted.” He nods at his glass. “Want another?”

Greg nods slowly “Early shift in the morning so you'd better make it a half.”

John orders again and they spend the next hour chatting happily about nothing in particular before parting.

~~~

Friday evening arrives and John's feeling slightly nervous as he collects Mary from her apartment and they make their way to a restaurant he's been recommended to try out. Mary looks wonderful and he feels very proud to be escorting her. They are seated and served drinks before being left in peace to contemplate the menus. 

“I want everything,” Mary says. “It all sounds delicious.”

John has been trying not to look too hard at the prices, but he agrees. “They've got a 'Trust the Chef' choice,” he offers.

Mary makes a pleased noise. “I'm obviously not the first to say that then.” She grins at John and starts to read out loud. “ _A selection of complementary dishes, especially compiled by our chefs and designed to share amongst the table._ ”

John reads along with her. He's a bit boggled by the _'bbq squid with white beans, red peppers, chorizo, celery and coriander'_ but the rest sounds delicious and very varied. “Looks good,” he says and relaxes back into his chair sipping his wine. 

Mary reads the menu again before putting it down, a signal to the attentive waitress who is at their table a few seconds after. 

“Have you decided?” she asks brightly. “Good choice,” she remarks when Mary tells her. “Leave a bit of room for a dessert though as they're good as well.”

When she's gone Mary gives a big sigh of happiness. “This is lovely, John,” she says and raises her glass to him. “Oh, and the answers yes.”

John reaches forward to hold her hand. “Give me a chance to ask the question,” he chides. “So you'll marry me then?'

“Of course,” Mary says. “And I'm fine with ring shopping tomorrow.”

John shakes his head. “It was meant to be a secret.”

“You're an open book,” Mary says fondly. “I've seen you looking at rings and Molly's been asking me if you've asked for weeks now.”

“Greg said they'd bet on it,” John says ruefully. “I'd have expected this with Sherlock but not with Molly and Greg!” 

Mary squeezes his hand. “Let's get me a cheap ring with a monstrous rock to wear when we see them next and see and see how long it takes before one of them cracks,” she suggests.

John laughs and squeezes back before sitting back and taking another sip of his wine. “We'll have to tell Mrs Hudson, she's been on at me to 'make an honest woman' of you for months.”

“She's a delight.”

“She is,” John agrees. “I'll miss her, she's been a good landlady and an even better friend.”

“I could live there if it would be easier...?”

John shakes his head firmly. “No, it's too far for you to travel into work easily, you told me you've been late every time you've stayed over Sunday night.”

“True,” Mary agrees

“I've stayed because Mycroft appealed to my better nature and Mrs Hudson needed me around in those first dreadful months after Sherlock's death, but it's time for me to move on and find somewhere with you.”

Mary nods and is about to say something when the waitress appears and places the serving platter between them. “Your appetiser,” she says says.

“Can you remind us what each dish is,” Mary asks, “I meant to hold onto the menu.”

“Not a problem,” the waitress says. “This is Bruschetta with mushroom, feta, mint and a hint of chilli. Enjoy.”

Mary takes a slice. “Tasty,” she says with approval after a few chews. “One of my colleagues has a brother who wants to rent out his house for a few years, he got a job abroad. It's about mid point between the school and the clinic. Do you want to take a look?”

“Why not,” John says.

“Good, we'll book an evening you're not working. Also, the wedding, I'd like to be married by my mum. Mum and dad would be fine setting up a marquee in the vicarage grounds, they’re certainly big enough dad is always complaining about mowing the lawns.” 

John laughs. “I have a feeling you may have been planning this for some time, so we'll have whatever you want.”

Mary grins “I have, and you may regret saying that, John dear.”

“Except when it comes to what I wear,” John continues unperturbed. 

“Hmm, we'll see,” Mary says and sits back as the waitress removes the empty platter and returns with the barbecued squid. John views it with some trepidation.

“Don't be a wimp,” Mary says and helps herself and puts a couple of pieces on John's plate. She takes a bite and hums contently. “It's delicious.”

John takes a tentative bite and then a larger one. He's never been very convinced that squid has any taste but rubber yet he has to agree. By the time they've sampled the _prosciutto with buffalo mozzarella, roasted pumpkin, mint, salted almonds and rocket_ and the _citrus-marinated sea-run salmon with raisins, pine nuts, feta, mint and coriander_ they're both extremely happy with their choice.

There is a larger gap between the starters and the two main courses. The first _oven-roasted John Dory with grilled artichokes, spinach, pinenuts, white bean purée, served with a green salad_ is wonderful and is followed by _rib-eye steak and mushroom risotto, served with potatoes baked with garlic_.

John sits back from the meal and sips his wine. He's full and doesn’t think he can eat another thing. He lifts his glass to Mary and smiles at her as she raise her glass back. 

“That is one of the best meals I've had for ages,” she says happily. “Coffee, a walk and then back to mine for a night cap I think?”

“Perfect,” says John and feels the happiest he's been for a long time.


	2. Not the wedding he was expecting

The Urgent Care Clinic is at its busiest. There's been a huge road traffic accident a few miles up the road with a large number of casualties so people not directly involved are being directed toward the clinic rather than the already full A&Es. John is due to go off duty in an hour. He's meeting up with Mary and her friends from work for a drink and he really doesn’t want to miss it, but it's not looking good. He's just asked Sam, one of the nurses, to set up an eye water bath for a teen whose had solvent squirted into her eyes. The girl is very panicked as her eyes are very painful but she's been reassured and is being more cooperative. John feels he can leave her in Sam's capable hands and move onto the next case. Setting a fracture, diagnosing mild concussion and a debridement of a rather nasty leg wound later John takes a few minutes to call Mary.

“You're cancelling,” she says.

John can hear the disappointment in her voice. “Sorry love, but we're rather overwhelmed and I really can't leave them in the lurch.”

“Of course you can't,” she says.

“I'll make it up somehow,” he promises.

“You definitely will be,”Mary says as her natural cheerfulness reasserts itself. “I'm thinking of booking us both into that chick flick you turned you nose up at last week.”

John laughs. “You do that,” he says. “Got to go, love you.”

“You too,” Mary replies.

John is about to pop his phone back in his pocket when it warbles. He opens the message to find a photo attachment of Mary sticking her tongue out at him. He laughs and goes back to work feeling lighter.

He doesn't manage to get away until half an hour before the clinic closes and is feeling tired and hungry. He grabs a Twix to eat on the underground and queues briefly at the nearest fish and chip shop for a portion of cod and chips. He's eating them while he walks home when someone tugs on his sleeve. He turns to find Alex looking panicked. 

“What's up, Alex?” he asks. He's never seen Alex without Freddie before.

Alex pulls his sleeve urgently and points north.

“You want me to come with you?” John guesses. “Somethings wrong with Freddie?”

Alex nods and lifts his hand miming holding a gun, he pulls the trigger then grabs his upper arm and pretend to stagger.

“He's been shot!” John shakes his head in disbelief. “He needs an ambulance, Alex!”

Alex shakes his head and points to John. He repeats the gun holding but doesn’t fire. He points at himself and points the pretend gun towards his head, then away. He repeats this twice and then mimics running and then grabs at John again and points in the distance. 

John blinks, confused. “Has Freddie been shot?”

Alex nods and opens his mouth as if to speak before shaking his head in frustration and starts to slowly sign.

John watches his fingers. “Want Doc,” he read slowly. “Yes I've got that Alex.”

Alex shakes his head and signs again. 

“Man wants Doc.” John reads, he thinks quickly and summarises what he's learnt. “Someone has threatened to shoot Freddie and sent you to get me?” 

Alex nods frantically but mimics the shooting and grabbing his arm. 

“Someone shot Freddie and then sent you!” John stands ramrod straight his tiredness forgotten. “When did this happen?”

Alex's shoulders slump and he nods looking miserable. He looks at his watch and raises and opens his hand twice.

“Ten minutes ago! Right, we need my medical bag and a torch,” and my pistol John adds to himself. “Come on.”

John races for Baker Street and hurtles up the stairs, closely followed by Alex. He drops the fish and chips on the kitchen counter, grabs his medical bag and takes down the hollowed out copy of Greys Anatomy and removes his pistol tucking it in his trousers.

“Ready,” he says to Alex and they start running.

After about five minutes Alex slows and John can see they're heading towards an empty block of flats that are due for redevelopment. He beckons John into a side street hugging the buildings and keeping out of the light as much as possible entering the flats by a side door and heading to the first floor. He enters one of the apartments and disappears. John turns on his torch and follows cautiously. The bare room is lit by a flickering camping light and he can just see Alex and a huddled shape on the floor. He joins Alex and checks Freddie.

Freddie is conscious, pale and from the expression on his face in a lot of pain. He blinks up at John and tries to smile. “Sorry doc,” he gasps out. 

“What have you got to be sorry for?” John asks as he opens his bag and put his gloves on. “Let me look at your arm.”

“Bleeding.” Freddie says unsteadily and leans against Alex. “Tried to stop it.” 

“OK,” John says, “We'll stop the bleeding and then I can take a look at the wound. Alex, press here,” he indicates, “it's a pressure point and will stop the blood flow. We also need to lift up your arm Freddie, that will help as well.”

Alex does as he says and pats Freddie's face with his free hand.

John checks that the bleeding is slowing. “Good, now Alex, hold the torch steady for me,” John says calmly. “Freddie I'll clear your clothing and we'll see what we need to do. Shine the torch on my bag Alex please, that's great, now on Freddie's arm.”

John cuts away Freddie's sleeve and inspects the wound. There is no exit wound. The bullet is probably lodged in Freddie's upper arm but he can't see it. There is no deformity or excessive swelling of the arm so it looks as if it missed bone. “The bullet is still in Freddie. I'm not going to try and remove it because it might be stopping further bleeding, that can be done later. What I need to do is wash the wound out with water and take out any bits of debris.”

“Okay,” Freddie says weakly. 

John gather a bottle of saline and his tweezers and gets Alex to direct the beam of the torch on the wound. He starts to irrigate the wound and keeps telling Freddie what he is doing to keep him alert.

“It's looking clean, Freddie. I'll put a dressing on it, we'll wrap you up warm to stop you going into shock and I call an ambulance.”

“No ambulance,” says a voice behind John. “You finish the treatment now Dr Watson.”

“He needs to be treated in hospital,” John says firmly biting down the impulse to grab his gun. “He needs antibiotics and an x-ray to check where the bullet's lodged and if it's safe to remove.”

“You have five minutes to finish and then the boss wants to see you.”

“I'm busy treating an injury you probably caused,” John snaps. “Tell your boss he can damn well come here if he's so desperate to talk to me.”

Alex grabs at his hand and shakes his head furiously.

“The boy knows you don't want to upset my boss,” the voice says. “You have four minutes, Dr Watson.”

John swears under his breath and continues his irrigation. “I'll give you a course of antibiotics, Freddie. Alex, make sure he takes them. I'll dress the wound and bandage. Alex you need to replace them daily and check that the wound is healing. Any sign of swelling or puss you get him to the urgent care clinic to see me immediately, understand?”

Alex looks furtively at the man standing behind John and then nods. Freddie sighs a yes and closes his eyes.

“Right!” John pats the wound dry and then dresses and bandages it. He pulls out a wad of dressing and bandages from his bag along with a 10 day course of antibiotics and gives it to Alex.

“Take one now,” he orders Freddie and watches him dry swallow it. “Where's his sleeping bag, we need to keep him warm.”

“The boy can do that,” the man says calmly.

“He needs help,” John says and waits for Alex to hand him the bag. Alex is scared that is obvious, but he does as John asks and they help Freddie to snuggle into the bag.

“Now Dr Watson.”

John packs his bag and slowly stands and turns to face the stranger who waves him towards the door. John notes the gun in the other hand is pointing at Freddie and Alex so he does as he is told. Outside another man pats him down, removes his gun and handcuffs him. John can only be relieved that his hands are in front of him rather than behind his back as that position always screws with his shoulder. He is then guided towards an idling taxi and sandwiched in the back seat between the two gunmen.

John sighs but says nothing. He's tired, hungry and fed up. He has absolutely no idea why anyone would want to shoot a street kid to get his attention. 

“Are you going to tell me who your boss is and why he wants to talk to me?” he asks wearily.

“You'll find out soon enough,” is the predictable answer. 

John settles back in the seat, closes his eyes and attempts to doze. When the car stops he slowly opens his eyes and gets out of the car to find himself standing in a warehouse full of freight. 

A man in a suit approaches carrying a briefcase which he places on one of the pallets and opens to pull out a syringe. “Five foot seven and under ten stone, is that right, Dr Watson?” he asks.

John's eyebrows raise. “What's in the syringe?” 

“Nothing to worry about,” the man says says pleasantly. “My employer says it's just to make it easier to transport you and asks that you don't make a fuss.” He nods at the men beside him who grab his elbows.

John flinches as his belt buckle is opened, his trousers and boxers pulled down and the needle is plunged into his left buttock. The man redresses him and leaves.

He starts feeling the effects of the drug as they walk him further into the warehouse and he's almost unconscious and needing to be carried by the time they reach the lift and head upwards.

~~~

John comes to slowly, his tongue is heavy and fuzzy and he feels dizzy and tired. He opens his eyes and shuts them quickly against the sunlight streaming through the window. He opens them again and views the room with some surprise. The last place he expected to find himself was a well decorated bedroom.

The sound of a door opening catches his attention and he watches as a tall man comes into view. “The Master would like the pleasure of your company for breakfast, Dr Watson,” he says calmly.

John blinks and slowly sits himself up swinging his legs over the side of the bed noting that not only has he been dressed in pyjamas, but that the pyjamas are silk! He takes the glass of water and pain killers offered him.

“The shower is through here, sir,” the man says opening a door off to the right hand side of the room. “If you would like to avail yourself of the amenities I will lay your clothes out on the bed and return in fifteen minutes to escort you to the breakfast room.” 

“Thank you,” John says automatically and stands unsteadily, grateful for the hand guiding him to the door of the bathroom. 

Once alone he uses the toilet and then views himself dispassionately in the mirror. He looks pale and drawn and he needs a shave although from the cursory search of the cabinets it appears he's going to have to do without one. He strips and enters the shower feeling marginally better as the warm water pounds his skin. He finds the shampoo and washes his hair trying to collect his thoughts and prepare himself to meet 'the master' whoever he might be.

The clothes on the bed are not his. His are practical, comfortable and lived in, these are brand new. The jeans fit well, perhaps more snugly than he is used to but he can live with that. The polo shirt is also tighter than he would prefer while the cashmere jumper in palest blue is total overkill. He's looking under the bed for sock and shoes when the butler reappears. 

“Where are my shoes?” he asks.

“Over here, sir, I've taken the liberty of giving them a good polish.”

John is relieved to see his own shoes, with new socks, under the arm chair.

The butler waits in silence while John laces his shoes. “The Master is waiting, sir,” he states and stands by the open door.

The house is old, immaculate and very well carpeted. He descends the circular stair case to the hallway and is directed into a large dining room with a long table set up for two at one end. The only occupant is reading the newspaper which he lowers as John approaches.

“Johnny!” Moriarty says and smiles, folding his paper and placing it by his plate. “Do sit, the chef is making some some hot toast and coffee, although I'd imagine you’d prefer tea.”

John takes a deep breath, squares his shoulders, clenches his fists and swallows, his mouth suddenly dry. “I was led to believe you were dead along with Sherlock,” he finally says. 

Moriarty grins. “You were meant to,” he says. “Now come, sit down, I'm sure you need a drink.”

John marches forward on automatic and sits in the chair pulled out for him conscious the whole time of Moriarty's eyes measuring and cataloguing him.

“Does sir require anything else?” the butler asks Moriarty.

Moriarty gaze doesn't leave John as he waves his fingers dismissively. The man leaves silently.

“You need a shave,” Moriarty says. “We’ll have to get that organised.” He tips his head to the side and stares further at John. “Hair's about the right length I think, perhaps a little longer before you need a trim and while the grey is very distinguished I think I prefer you totally blond. You've lost weight, you could do with gaining a couple of kilos, but otherwise you look in good shape and those clothes suit you, I thought they would.”

John is grateful that they are interrupted from more of Moriarty's personal observations by the return of the butler bearing a tray. He watches in silence as a cup of tea is poured for him. 

Moriarty butters a piece of toast and places it in front of him. “I made sure that we had the best available,” he says pushing a jar of Harrod's marmalade towards him.

John says nothing. He takes the proffered jar and covers his toast with it. He eats it automatically hardly registering the taste conscious of Moriarty observing his every move. 

“Why am I here?” he asks simply after a few bites.

Moriarty shrugs. “Because I want you to be.”

John stifles the impulse to grab him by the neck and strangle him with an effort. How ever satisfying it might be he's not fool enough to think that Moriarty hasn't got people watching out for him. “Why me and why now?” he asks again. 

Moriarty shrugs again. “Do I need a reason?”

“Of course you do, “John says in frustration. “Sherlock was always your obsession. You set out to destroy him and now he's dead. I repeat, why am I, John Watson, here now that Sherlock has gone?”

Moriarty laughs. “Johnny, do use that tiny brain of yours for once.”

John glares at him.

Moriarty holds up his hands and grins. “Tiny in comparison to my genius, I know you aren't stupid.”

“And what does a genius such as yourself want with someone you consider so beneath you?" John says through clenched teeth.

“Everyone's beneath me when it comes to genius,” Moriarty sniffs. 

“Sherlock wasn’t and I have no doubt his brother could give you a run for your money,” John counters.

“He's ruthless, but so booooring,” Moriarty sings out. “Now Sherlock isn't, but Daddy's rather lost patience with him to be honest.”

John takes a breath and closes his eyes feeling overwhelmed by the sudden realisation that if Moriarty' somehow staged his own death then it is highly possible that so did Sherlock. John may hate Moriarty with a passion but at this moment in time he comes close to hating Sherlock even more. If Sherlock staged his 'suicide' in front of him and left him to pick up the pieces and grieve John is going to bloody kill him whatever the fucking reason!

“Johnny's got it,” Moriarty sings and laughs. “Sherlock's a naughty boy isn’t he and he certainly doesn't deserve such a loyal pet as you.”

“He did it because you left him no other option,” John says fiercely, certain of that if nothing else and not willing to have his and Sherlock's friendship ridiculed.

“See, I want that!” Moriarty says hungrily. “I wonder if you'd shoot a man for me, Johnny? If you'd tell me I was brilliant all the time, run around and fetch for me, fight for me, lie for me, die for me?”

“You've got minions for all that,” John says shortly.

“Only because I pay them” Moriarty says, with more honesty than John would expect. “You see, Johnny, Sherlock had the right idea. I need a live in. However, I have rather exacting requirement and I just couldn't find one I liked, all so tedious and boring.” 

He looks sad for all of a second and John winces at the thought of what may have happened to the previous 'live ins'.

Moriarty grins again and eyes John hungrily. “So I thought, why take second best, go for the original. It’s not exactly as if he looked after you very well anyway.”

“I'm not a pet or an object,” John says coldly. “If you want a pet try a pool full of sharks or a white Persian cat, they'd seem far more appropriate.”

Moriarty blinks and tips his head to the side before roaring with laughter and clapping his hands with glee. “Oh, Johnny, I'm far more dangerous than any of those one hit wonders and far more discerning in my tastes.”

John remains silent. He's still processing the thought that Sherlock is alive, according to Moriarty, and therefore an unmitigated bastard of the first order.

Moriarty pushes another pieces of toast towards him. “Do eat more, Johnny. I want you looking your best for the ceremony and the photos.”

John isn't really hungry but he butters another piece of toast to occupy his hands. “What ceremony?” he asks after taking a few bites.

Moriarty’s eyes light up. “Our wedding ceremony of course, Johnny, dear oh dear, did daddy forget to tell you?” He flings his arms out wide and sings. “I'm gettin' married in the mornin' Ding dong! the bells are gonna chime.”

“What are you on about?” John says slowly and precisely.

Moriarty glances at his watch. “In just over twenty four hours we'll be Dr and Mr Moriarty.” He shivers exaggeratedly. “Just saying the names is sooooo exciting.”

“Have you gone completely barmy?” John shouts. “I wouldn't marry you if you were the last person left on earth.”

“Now that's just plain nasty, Johnny,” Moriarty says crossing his arms in front of him. “Daddy might get a titsy bit upset if you say things like that and you really don't want me getting upset do you Johnny?”

John claws back his anger with effort and takes a deep breath. “I am not marrying you or any other man,” he says. “I am already engaged to be married to a very lovely woman and...”

“Were engaged,” Moriarty interrupts. “To a very nice young woman I agree. She was very upset when I told her that the wedding was off. In fact she swore at me and was quite rude when I asked her to return the engagement ring.” He reaches in his pocket and pulls it out and tosses it on the table.

“If you have harmed Mary...” John starts heatedly pushing his chair back to stand and punch out Moriarty.

“Don't be silly, Johnny,” Moriarty says waving his finger at John. “Mary is completely unharmed and will remain unharmed for as long as you behave, be a good boy and don't upset daddy. You don't want her to get shot like that street kid do you now?”

John collapses in his chair and shakes his head slowly.

“Good,” Moriarty says brightly. “Now come here, Johnny, I'd like to do a more thorough inspection.”

John looks at the discarded ring before slowly getting up and walking reluctantly towards the grinning mad man.

“Sit,” Moriarty say and pats his lap.

“I'd rather stand,” John says, chin raised.

“I'm sure you would,” Moriarty says,”But I want you sitting.” He drags John forward and pulls him so he is sitting astride his lap. “Now give daddy a big kiss.”

John tightens his fists and thinks of Mary being threatened by a gunman. He leans forward to give Moriarty a quick peck on the lips. Moriarty grabs his hair, pulls him forward and proceeds to snog him. John is damned if he is going to be passive so he kisses back aggressively, eyes wide open, grabbing Moriarty's shoulders to stop himself toppling forward. 

They're both breathing heavily when Moriarty brings the kiss to an end. He nips John's nose with his teeth and grins manically. “You are going to be so much fun, Johnny,” he says gleefully as John glares at him. He pushes him off his lap and grabs his hand. “Suit fitting first and then ring shopping and the hairdresser, can't have the future Dr Moriarty look anything but the best can we?”

John glances back at the ring, squares his shoulders and lets Moriarty pull him towards the door.

~~~

John treats the whole humiliating affair like an army exercise. He goes where he is sent, says what is expected and stands at military rest, eyes scanning the guests on the rare occasions Moriarty isn't demanding his attention. The ceremony itself takes place in a registry office in London, although he was bundled in and bundled out and didn’t get to see where exactly. They're in France now in the grounds of a very posh château. John doesn’t recognise any of the guests and he's curious as to how they know Moriarty and why they're attending. Moriarty may not be wanted in the UK, he made sure of that when he pinned Sherlock for his crimes, but the last John had heard was that his global empire had been destroyed, more or less. John has a sudden realisation as to what Sherlock has been doing over the last two years and a possible answer as to why Moriarty has come out of his lair. However, nothing explains this farce of a marriage. 

“Try not to look so grim, darling,” Moriarty says in his ear. “You look like an adorable puppy left out in the cold. So many people have told me that you are cute and charming, but 'tres triste'. I've told them that you are mourning the untimely death of a good friend who therefore can't be here to celebrate and they are 'tres desole'.” He grins. “I think a few would very much like to help cheer you up. One of the waiters has been trying to get you to take a drink for the past hour.”

John blinks and looks around him. He's been wallowing a bit in his anger and helplessness but he doesn’t think he's been that unaware. 

“Where are they all from?' he asks, less because he expects an answer and more to change the subject.

“Clients, Johnny, grateful clients in the main.”

John looks at the marquee, the food, the staff and the guests and shakes his head, none of this happened over night. “How long have you been planning this?”

Moriarty smiles and looks pleased. “Six months give or take.”

“Six months!” John repeats incredulously. “I still don't understand why! Why you've gone to all this effort? Why this farce of a wedding? Why?”

Moriarty pulls him forward into a hug and kisses him. John resits the temptation to push him away and is mortified to hear some cooing and clapping from the guests. “Don’t worry, Johnny boy, daddy will explain everything to you later. Now come and meet some guests who want to know all about you.”

John's French, adequate for a holiday or superficial chat, is stretched to the limit explaining to Moriarty's clients that yes, he was a military doctor and yes lately he has been working towards qualification in Emergency medicine while working at an Urgent Care clinic. John is no longer surprised at Moriarty's knowledge of his work or the development in his career, but he is taken aback at the enthusiasm his words have on Moriarty's guests. 

“I've promised them a clinic run by a trusted and experienced doctor who can treat emergencies such as gun shot wounds,” Moriarty murmurs in his ear as the conversation gets beyond him. 

John moves his ear away from Moriarty mouth and thinks for a moment. “Bullet wounds need to be registered same as the UK?” he asks.

“Clever boy,” Moriarty says approvingly and nibbles his ear.

John shudders and tries to move away. Moriarty grabs his wrists and squeezes tightly and John stays and suffers another kiss and a full body hug. Moriarty throws his arm over John's shoulder and with many apologies, moves him on to another set of guests for further excruciating small talk.

The reception goes on into the evening ending with a spectacular fireworks show that John would have enjoyed more if Moriarty wasn't plastered to his side. John is almost relieved to be shepherded into the house, sat on a highly elegant armchair and provided with a whisky. He savours it and sips slowly while Moriarty gives out orders to an employee. Moriarty joins him, sitting in the chair opposite.

There is welcome silence for some minutes as they both drink.

“You look done in, Johnny,” Moriarty finally observes. “I'd suggest a massage but I think it's beddy byes time for you. The massage can wait until tomorrow.”

John is inclined to agree.

Moriarty snaps his fingers and the butler who showed John in to breakfast two long days ago enters the room. “Simons will show you to the bedroom, I'll be along later.”

John finishes his drink and stands wanting desperately to get away from Moriarty and have his breakdown in peace.

“No good night kiss for your husband, Johnny?”

“You've taken more than enough today,” John says precisely and looks at Simons inquiringly. 

“This way sir,” Simons says after a few seconds pause as Moriarty laughs and blows John a kiss.

“Later then darling,” Moriarty calls as John starts to follow.

John ignores him walking silently along the wooden halls, up the magnificent stair case and along beautifully carpeted landing to decorated double doors which Simons opens and waves him through. The bedroom is large and opulent the bed enormous. 

“The bathroom is here, sir” Simons says and indicates one of the door leading off the room. “The other door leads to the wardrobe. Your dressing gown is hanging in the bathroom. The Master was insistent that I made you aware of the tea making facilities, a kettle, coffee and tea and a mini fridge are behind this recess.”

“Right,” John says. “Is this a hotel then?”

“Oh no, sir, this belongs to your husband.”

“I'd rather you call him anything but that,” John says firmly. 

Simons nods his head and asks, “Anything else you need sir?” 

“A phone, mobile or otherwise,” John asks hopefully.

Simons moves to the bed and open a bedside cabinet. “The hand sets are stored in here, sir.” 

John spirits rise as he nods his thanks waiting for Simons to exit as he rings Mary's number. Bugged or not he needs to hear Mary's voice.

“It's me,” he says as soon as she answers. “Are you okay, did he hurt you?”

“John,” Mary breathes. “I'm fine, shaken but fine. I've had that brother of Sherlock's visit me and explain a little, although you'd already told me about this Moriarty. I thought he was dead.”

“So did I,” John says heavily. “Oh god Mary, you're sure your okay? Please tell me you're okay.”

“I'm fine, love,” Mary says soothingly and John loves her more than he can say at this moment. “I'm more concerned about you.”

“I'm furious but fine,” John says.

“And married,” Moriarty's voice echoes down the line. “You forgot to tell your ex fiancée that you're married to me now, Johnny and I'm rather possessive about my things, so desperately sweet as this is I'm ending the call now.” 

The line goes dead and John stares at the handset before slowly replacing it in the drawer. He takes a deep breath and squares his shoulders. Mary's fine and Mycroft has her under surveillance. It won’t stop Moriarty but still it eases his concerns a little.

He feels the need for a long hot shower so he heads for the bathroom. The shower, like almost everything he's seen in this damn place is ostentatious and enormous, John steps in, turns the water on and stands despondently under the fall of water, head touching the shower side. About ten minutes later he turns off the shower, steps out, dries himself and falls into bed and, with a soldiers instinct to rest when he can, sleeps.


	3. Sherlock and Mary meet

Sherlock paces Mycroft's study impatiently. Mycroft has set up a meeting with John's fiancée and insisted that he been present. He observes Mary Morstan carefully as she walks in the room. He can see what attracted John to her. She has an attractive, open and friendly face and a confident walk. 

She stops and stares at him. “You're Sherlock Holmes,” she says incredulously. “John's best friend, the man he's mourned for, you're alive!'

“Obviously,” Sherlock says and is surprised to be slapped briskly round the face.

“You bastard,” Mary says and Sherlock can see tears in her eyes. “You bastard, he adored you, he bloody loved you and you pretended to commit suicide in front of him!”

Sherlock blinks and holds on to the words 'adored' and 'loved'. “I can assure you that it was necessary,” he says somewhat bitingly.

“It better have been bloody essential,” Mary says angrily, her eyes roving over him. “John deserves better from you. He's a wonderful person, a great and loyal friend and one of the sweetest and kindest men I know. He adored you Sherlock Holmes. He thought the sun shone out of your bloody arse, although he did say you could be the biggest dick-head in creation, and I can see why,” she adds as she slowly sits down.

“John's life was in danger,” Sherlock says briefly.

“And did you by any chance tell him that, explain to him, give him a choice to perhaps go with you?” Mary asks.

“I made the necessary decision,” Sherlock says eyeing her coldly.” There were other lives also at risk. John is too open and too honest to have successfully convinced others that I was dead if I had let him know.”

“You never gave him the opportunity,” Mary replies and folds her arms and glares back at him.

“I see you have already introduced yourselves,” Mycroft says as he walk into the tense silence of the room a benign smile on his face. “I thought it would be useful for the two people John cares about the most to meet up and I did promise to keep you fully informed Miss Morstan.”

Sherlock frowns, he doesn’t like to be reminded that he shares John's attention.

“Call me Mary,” she says. “I feel as if I'm drowning in unnecessary formality already. What do you have, do you know where John might be held?”

“The continent, possibly France,” Mycroft says. “An MP known for his freebie holidays in luxurious places recently tweeted that he was at a dinner party where a fellow guest collapsed with a heart attack. He says the man was saved by the quick response of a doctor attending the party. We followed this up and the description matches John.”

“Where was this?” Mary asks.

“Our MP was rather reticent on the exact location but around the Swiss French border it appears.”

“I see. So you're monitoring social media then?” Mary asks apparently amused at the idea. “Don't expect anything from John then, he takes his time just responding to a text.”

Sherlock hides a wry smile at this.

“We've been monitoring and looking at anything of potential interest,” Mycroft continues. “We need to know of his associates, where he's working from. How he maintained his empire despite appearances to the contrary.”

Mary looks between the two of them and then directly at Sherlock “That's why you jumped, you've been working to take his empire down?” she asks.

“Yes,” Sherlock says. “To all accounts successfully, particularly as until recently I was certain Moriarty was dead, having seen him apparently blow his brains out in front of me!' He frowns and continues. “It is obvious now that Moriarty sacrificed his old empire and promptly rebuilt.”

A tap on the door interrupts their conversation and Anthea comes in. She and Mycroft have a brief conversation. 

“I will have to absent myself for a few minutes so please make yourself comfortable,” Mycroft says and leaves.

There is a silence for a few minutes until Mary says. “I still don't understand where John comes into all this. I know a great deal about his life with you because he loved to talk about it and I enjoyed listening. I know Moriarty strapped him in a bomb as a trap for you, I know about Moriarty’s obsession with you. If he knows you are alive why has he taken John rather than say go for you directly?”

“Moriarty spoke to you, did he gave you any reason at all?”Sherlock asks.

Mary shivers. “His gunman handed me his mobile and Moriarty introduced himself, told me he had John and I was to be a good girl and hand over the ring. He didn't bother to offer any explanation and I was too shocked and angry to demand one.” 

Sherlock nods. “I think we have to assume he knows I'm alive and intends to use John to draw me out.”

“I'm sure of that,” Mary murmurs.

“However, he's not threatened John which is surprising if that is his intention.” Sherlock pauses for a second and then continues. “Moriarty was obsessed with bringing me down, John was a tool to assist him and initially he was highly dismissive of John. However I think John's importance to me and the way he aided me began to intrigue him.”

Mary raises her eyebrows. “I don't think I quite follow you,” she says.

“Moriarty once said to me that he was thinking of getting an ordinary person as a 'live in', like you have John were his words as I recall.” Sherlock explains.

Mary wrinkles her nose. “How very patronising.” She considers for a moment. “And the marriage?”

“Unknown, probably because he can and it amuses him, however a spouse can't be compelled to testify against their partner and we can imagine the way Moriarty could ensure that John was unwilling to testify for fear of reprisals against you.”

Mary nods. “I see, so it's expediency rather than say Moriarty being gay and deciding he fancies John...” she trails off.

“I have always considered Moriarty asexual,” Sherlock says slowly. “But I think were he to express an interest he would prefer men to women. I have no doubt he will make a play for John if only to amuse himself, but I doubt that he will force himself on John if that is your concern. He's too vain for that.”

Mary takes a deep breath and nods. There is silence between them for a few minutes until Mary says, “John told me he thought you were asexual until Irene Alder came along.”

“Not asexual, I’m just not very interested in sex. Irene intrigued me.”

“And John?” Mary asks forthrightly. “Does John intrigue you?”

“Yes,” Sherlock says precisely. 

“Yet you did nothing to show him?”

“John was happy with our friendship, I didn't feel that expressing anything beyond that would be welcomed.”

“John told me that you could tell a person's job from their clothes and solve crimes that have puzzled others for months in hours. He told me that you could read people, but that emotions sometimes puzzled you. You have shared a flat with John for nearly two years Sherlock Holmes and in that time you are telling me that you didn't realise that John loved you, was in fact 'in love' with you?”

Sherlock is silent for a few seconds considering Mary's words. “John sees himself as straight,” he says slowly.

“Yes, and he is mostly, that's why we fell in love and got engaged.” Mary stands and faces Sherlock. “I love John and I intend to marry him, however I have no intention of cutting him off from you or making him miserable by asking him to chose between us. I know he would chose me because he's that kind of man, but ultimately all three of us would lose out.” She takes a deep breath and raises her chin to looks firmly into Sherlock's face. “I’m willing to share John in whatever way necessary to ensure his happiness.”

Sherlock shakes his head in surprised admiration. “You're a better person than me then Mary Morstan, were John mine I would not share,” he says honestly. 

“You'll shake on it?” Mary asks and holds out her hand.

“Yes” Sherlock says, holding out his hand.

Mary grabs Sherlock hand and they shake. Sherlock looks down at her and raises her hand to his lips. “John chose well,” he says.

“John has excellent taste,” Mary says and smiles.

“I see you are getting on much better,” Mycroft says as he walks back in the room. “Now Sherlock and I wanted to show you this, Mary. This was taken yesterday at an ambassadorial function being held at the Dorchester. The film is from the hotel security cameras, the sections containing Moriarty and John have been added together for our convenience.”

Anthea places a lap top in front of Mary, who gestures Sherlock forward to view it with her and they watch as John and Moriarty come into view.

“John's hair's been dyed,” Mary says in some astonishment. 

“It makes him look younger,” Sherlock agrees. “You'll note that Moriarty hasn't stinted on clothes either, that's a Yves Saint Laurent suit John's wearing.”

“Very nicely too,” Mary says and Sherlock smiles at her enthusiasm.

“I think we are all agreed on our admiration for John's sartorial elegance,” Mycroft says mildly, but Sherlock can hear the unvoiced amusement. 

They watch the rest in silence until it loops and plays again.

“Moriarty doesn’t look very frightening,” Mary observes. 

“He's psychotic and unpredictable,” Sherlock says. “That is what makes him so very dangerous.” 

“You can tell from Moriarty's behaviour that he's expecting us to be viewing this.” Mycroft says. 

Sherlock observes Mary's expression as she re-watches as Moriarty hug and kiss John. 

“John doesn't show any obvious signs of distress,” she says slowly, “but he looks uncomfortable.”

“He's playing the stoic solider,” Sherlock agrees.

Mary nods and watches some more. “What brought it to your attention?” she asks.

“A rather audacious robbery of a diamond necklace that took place during the function,” Mycroft says,

“Audacious, in what way?” she asks, curious.

“The necklace appears to have been stolen while the lady in question was wearing it.”

Sherlock waves his hand. “We’ve discussed this, she was either in on it or the necklace was exchanged before she put it on,” he says dismissively. 

“She swears not and the necklace was kept in the hotel case from when she and her husband arrived until it was brought to her room by two security men and the manager who stayed to observe as the box was opened.”

Sherlock looks bored. “Then the obvious implication is that Moriarty staged it so that the security film would be viewed and his presence would be brought to your attention.”

“I'm almost certain that Moriarty just said, 'Smile you're on camera, Johnny,'” Mary says. “Deaf Aunt who watched the TV with the sound off and years of invigilating for exams,” she adds into the questioning silence.

“Anything else?”

Mary shakes her head. “I think John says something along the lines of 'Please tell me you haven’t killed someone', but that's more guesswork.”

“It may be worth getting a lip reader to view this,” Sherlock suggests.

Mycroft nods and looks over to Anthea.

“Onto it, sir,” she says and taps away on her smart phone.

Mary slowly sits down and sighs. “I miss him,” she says quietly. “I've told myself that Moriarty wouldn't hurt him if he'd gone to the effort of actually marrying him, but he had that street kid shot for no other reason than to get John's attention and I can't help but think he might hurt John anyway.”

“John is very good in dangerous situations,” Sherlock says. 

Mary shakes her head. “I guess that was meant to be reassuring,” she says.

Sherlock feels a little nonplussed. “Yes,” he says brusquely. “John puts you at risk if he misbehaves, he will therefore obey orders and not rock the boat too much. Plus it will amuse Moriarty because we all know John's not very good at hiding his feelings.”

Mary smiles. “No he's not is he. Okay, yes, I'll accept that as reassurance. What do we do now though?”

“You will do nothing,” Mycroft says, holding up his hand as Mary starts to protest. “Moriarty will be keeping an eye on you and you need to carry on living your life without any obvious change.”

Mary folds her arms an expression of discontent on her face but keeps quiet.

“Thank you, “Mycroft says in response. “Now, people have been waking up to the fact that Sherlock isn’t a fake for over a year now. All Moriarty's evidence has fallen over when put under intense scrutiny and those people who lost their jobs or positions have quietly been reinstated. When Sherlock officially returns it will be a media circus, all attention will be on him. We could potentially use that media circus to advertise that John has been taken by Moriarty and thereby put pressure on him to return John.” 

“We think Moriarty has been leading up to something like this,” Sherlock says. 

“However the fact is that if John still thinks you are in danger he will carry on doing what Moriarty tells him, which undoubtedly will include stating that he consented to and is happy to be married,” Mycroft says.

“That being so it is my intention to remain 'dead' and to search for and rescue John.” Sherlock says. “It will take time, but I think it's the best option. If we buy into what Moriarty wants we risk losing John all together.”

“But if we appear to do nothing aren't we also putting John at risk?” Mary asks.

“Unfortunately there is risk for John in any option we take,” Mycroft answers. “We are hampered by not knowing exactly why Moriarty took John. We can only conjecture and there are far too many variables. 

Mary sighs. “I'll have to trust you to do what is best for John,” she says looking at Sherlock. 

“I will,” Sherlock says.


	4. Playing the reluctant host

John is bored. His French has by necessity improved considerably over the past however many weeks he has been Moriarty's 'guest', but it is not good enough to understand all the conversation. Also this is the fourth formal dinner party he has attended, albeit the first Moriarty has hosted, in the past few weeks and he's frankly had enough. 

“Docteur Moriarty,” his neighbour, Lynette a charming lady John has spoken to on and off throughout the dinner addresses him.

“John please,” he reminds her automatically.

“Jean,” she responds and smiles. “Jean, Comment avez-vous rencontré Monsieur Moriarty?”

John gives a short laugh and wonders if her English is up to the explanation as he doesn’t know how to say it in French. “When he kidnapped me and wrapped me in a bomb,” he says, and drains his wine nodding for it to be refilled.

“Bombe?” she questions.

“Moi volé,” he tries and hugs himself, “Envelopper” 

There is a short silence as she puzzles out what he means and then she exclaims. “Mon Dieu! Dis-moi pourquoi?” 

“He wanted to warn off my friend. Avertir de mon ami,” John says and pour himself some more wine. “Get him to stop investigating him. Cesser d'enquêter,” he adds, conjuring up long forgotten phrases as she looks puzzled.

“Votre ami, est-il un policier?”

John smiles and shakes his head. “Non, Il a travaillé avec la police, pas pour eux.” And adds quietly, “He was brilliant.”

“Où est-il maintenant?”

“Je ne sais pas.” John says quietly. “I don't know, I wish I did. Once I thought he was dead, but...”

“Drinks are in the drawing room, sir,” the butler says interrupting him. 

John nods and stands up, conscious of Moriarty's dark eyes regarding him possessively. “Les boissons sont dans le salon,” he says indicating the doors the butler is opening, then falls back into English. “Please join us for coffee and liqueurs.” He is about to hold out his arm to escort Lynette into the drawing room when Moriarty glides forward and smiles, all teeth, at the lady in question and gathers John to him.

“I like it when you take charge, Johnny,” he says.

“That's fortunate, since the staff come to me as they find me so much easy to deal with,” John says dryly.

“I could eat you up you're so precious,” Moriarty says in his ear and drops a kiss on his cheek. “I instructed Simons to set up the card tables for a hand of Bridge for those who want to. Blackjack and poker for the gamblers among us are in the study – which is where I want you.”

“I'm very happy to gamble away your fortune,” John says as Moriarty guides him into the drawing room. 

“I expect you to win, darling,” Moriarty says with a hint of threat in his voice. “Be a good boy and makes Daddy lots of money and I'll let you choose your own reward.”

“I get to phone Mary for an unmonitored chat,” John says immediately.

“You're so predictable, Johnny,” Moriarty says with a theatrical sigh. “No, I can't trust you.”

“You can record it and listen afterwards,” John offers hopefully.

“Tempting,” Moriarty says. “Two minutes and I'll be listening throughout.” 

John takes a deep breath. “Five minutes and I'll not say anything I shouldn't,” he offers.

Moriarty grins. “So precious,” he coos and pats his shoulder cheerfully before moving back to the party.

John sighs then squares his shoulders and marches into the room. He plays the host with a smile, ensures his fellow gamers have sufficient to drink and then obediently follows Moriarty into his study to do battle with cards. He savours his whisky slowly throughout the first and second game and plays cautiously, losing a little. By now he feels he's got the measure of his fellow players and with his reward firmly in mind he sets out to win. 

He's amassed a good pile of chips and is concentrating on playing when he realises that he has an audience. His dinner party companion, Lynette catches his gaze and blows him a kiss. He grins and waves back before retuning his attention to the game.

By the time the rest of the party have decided to retire Lynette has become cheerleader of a small group of women. John stands, smiles and bows with a flourish to much laughter and cries of bravo. 

“Thank you, merci,” he says to all of them as he kisses their cheeks. 

Simons materialises in front of him and murmurs, “The cars have been delivered to the door, sir,” and then leaves. 

John nods and clears his throat. “Merci d'être venus ici ce soir,” he says clearly. “et d'être de si merveilleux invités.” He's uncomfortable speaking in French to a large group of people. He knows he falls back on a literal translation when he's not certain. 

Simons reappears with a few other members of staff who are busy giving the guests their coats and other paraphernalia. Moriarty joins John and pulls him forward to shake hands, and exchange kisses with the departing visitors. By the time the last guest has gone John is feeling mellow and ready to sleep but Moriarty has other ideas. He hauls John into the study and pushes him up against the wall holding his arms high above him.

“My, my flirting with the guests, Johnny boy,” he says. 

John wriggles his wrists but doesn't resist, waiting to see where this is going.

“And so sexy speaking French and taking charge,” Moriarty continues before surging forward and kissing John passionately. John is almost overwhelmed by Moriarty's forcefulness and is gasping for breath when he pulls back. 

Moriarty grins, unbuttons his collar and pulls his tie loose tying John's wrist together. John eyes him quizzically and looks up at his wrists, he has no doubt he can get his hands free is he needs to but he's not entirely too sure where this is going.

“Daddy's going to give Johnny a special treat,” Moriarty sings out. “Now be a good boy and keep your hands up, if they come down I'll stop.” 

John blinks, but before he can ask Moriarty is back to kissing and nibbling. John closes his eyes and goes along for the ride. He tenses when Moriarty undoes the button of his trousers and pulls down his zip but is utterly flabbergasted when Moriarty slides to his knees, pulls down his clothing and begins to suck his cock.

“Oh god!” he exclaims, looking down in astonishment. “Fuck!” He's become used to the kissing and heavily laden innuendo, but not this and despite the drink and the fact that it's Moriarty giving him head, he's getting hard. He tips his head back and leans heavily against the wall. He knows that he should stop this, Moriarty has even given him an out, but it feels so damn good. 

Moriarty scrapes his teeth gently along his length and does something with his tongue that has John rock hard and crying out, jerking his hips as he does so. Moriarty pushes him back against the wall but doesn’t stop and settles to alternating vigorous sucking with playful nips and licks. After a few minutes John is vibrating with tension and moaning almost continuously having been ready to come a number of times. Moriarty, the bastard, is playing with him, keeping him on the brink. An indeterminate time later Moriarty lets him come and John collapses onto the floor exhausted but buzzing with pleasure. 

Nothing is said for a few minutes as they both catch their breath. John feels a hand moving gently in his hair and looks up.

Moriarty flicks his nose and grins at him. “Plenty more of that available if you play your cards right, Johnny boy,” he says and winks.

John takes a deep breath. “Right,” he says, uncomfortable and awkward now the moment is over.

Moriarty grins knowingly and gets to his feet reaching into a drawer and throwing John a phone as he heads to the door. “Two minutes, darling and don't forget I’ll be listening.”

John catches the phone and closes his eyes briefly rubbing at his face. He gets to his feet and straightens himself out before dialling Mary's number. The answer phone clicks in and he waits impatiently for it to end.

“It's me, sorry for the late call,” he says. “I've got a few minutes to let you know I'm OK and missing you. No idea what's happening down your end but...” He hears the phone being picked up. “Mary?”

“Sorry, fast asleep,” Mary says and muffles a yawn. “It's been ages since you last rang, John. I've been so worried about you.”

“I'm OK,” John repeats. “Can't tell you anything and I'm being monitored so why don't you tell me what you've been up to.”

“I'm being well looked after, Greg and Molly have been around. I've spent some time at your flat with Mrs Hudson,” Mary says

“She'd like that.”

“Met your sister there.”

“What was she doing there?” John says in astonishment. “She never came near there normally.”

“Wanted to know why you weren’t answering you phone.”

“Right!”

“Oh and Freddie's recovered, thought you might like to know that.”

“Thanks, I'm glad,” John says.

“Otherwise life goes on the same.” Mary is silent for a few seconds. “I miss you,” she says quietly. “I forget and think 'John would like that' or start texting you and then it hits me again that Moriarty has taken you,” her voice quavers a little and John wants to hold her tight.

"I've missed you too,” he assures her.

“Why is he doing this?” she asks. 

“I don’t really know but I think it's because he's sure that Sherlock's alive,” John says.

“Ah!” Mary says. “And you, what do you think?

“I bloody kill him if he is,” John says fiercely.

There's a snort down the phone and then Mary is laughing. John revels in the sound of it and smiles to himself.

“That would certainly surprise him,” she says when she's collected herself.

“And teach him a lesson he won’t forget,” John adds, delighted to hear Mary snort with laughter again.

“Idiot,” she says fondly. “Oh I forgot to say, I like the hair and that suit you were wearing, Yves Saint Laurent I was informed, did wonders for your bum.”

John is about to ask her what she is talking about when he recalls the tedious reception at the Dorchester Moriarty made him suffer through. “Mycroft showed you the security footage?” he asks.

“Yes and I had to wipe up my drool, it was embarrassing,” Mary says and it's John's turn to laugh. 

“Unfortunately I won't be able to afford them on my salary so you'll have to ask him for a photo,” he says.

“I've already got one, silly, you didn’t think I'd pass up such an opportunity did you?”

John laughs. “I guess not.”

There’s a brief silence until Mary says wistfully. “I wish I could see you.”

“And me you.”

“Do you think we could use Skype next time?” 

“I'll ask,” John promises. 

Moriarty's voice breaks in. “Say goodbye Johnny boy, time to go bye byes.”

“Love you,” John says, quickly

“Back at you,” Mary says just before the phone cuts out.

Moriarty saunters back into the room and takes the phone from John. “You're mine now,” Moriarty says and takes hold of John's chin. “Miss Morstan needs to understand that I don't share.”

John raises his chin. “And we both know that this has nothing to do with me and everything to do with your belief that Sherlock is alive.”

Moriarty grins and kisses him. “Don't sell yourself short darling.” He lets go of John's chin and waves towards the stairs.. “Chop, chop, Johnny, bed is calling. I'll be joining you in a tick or two.”

John muffles a yawn and heads up to bed hugging the memory of Mary's voice to him in solace.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> School girl French here so please let me know if I've completely screwed up.  
> “Jean, Comment avez-vous rencontré Monsieur Moriarty?” (John, how did you meet Mr Moriarty?)  
> “Moi volé,” (stole me)  
> “Envelopper” (wrap)  
> “Mon Dieu! Dis-moi pourquoi, (My God ! Tell me why?)”  
> “Votre ami, est-il un policier?” (Your friend, is he a policeman?)  
> “Non, Il a travaillé avec la police, pas pour eux.” (he worked with the police not for them).  
> “Où est-il maintenant?” (Where is he now?)  
> “Merci d'être venus ici ce soir,” (Thank you for coming here tonight)  
> “et d'être de si merveilleux invités.” (and for being such wonderful guests).


	5. The reunion

Sherlock watches the café carefully. Moriarty is supposed to frequent here and meet clients according to his informant. Apparently John, or a man matching John's description, has been seen to accompany him on occasions. This is the second week he's been watching and he's expecting to be let down yet again. Sherlock sits back and stretches before returning his attention to the entrance. A car drives up and waits, engine idling. The driver gets out, opens the rear door and Moriarty exits. A few seconds later a flash of blond hair has Sherlock tightening his hold on his binoculars and sitting forward. For the first time in over two years he catches sight of John in the flesh. He drinks John in, he's looking well and is dressed beautifully in designer jeans and a cashmere jumper. He's standing at parade rest listening to the conversation between Moriarty and the driver, possibly a valued lackey. From his expression and body language he doesn’t much like the content of the conversation, but he says nothing and Sherlock notices his attention wandering as he gazes across the square towards the town hall. 

Sherlock studies him further resisting the very real temptation to run and grab him. John doesn't look unhappy, but he looks resigned as if he's given up hope of things changing. Perversely Sherlock doesn’t think he's ever seen John look so attractive. His hair is beautifully cut and highlighted and it suits him. The wrinkles under his eyes have almost disappeared, botox obviously, and he is tanned and trim as fit as in any of the photos Sherlock has seen of him in his fatigues.

Moriarty turns to John and pulls him close saying something. John nods his head and Moriarty laughs hugging John to him before dropping as kiss on his lips and patting his bum. They head back to the car and Moriarty opens the door and sees John settled in the back waving him off.

Sherlock notes the number plate and then follows the car for as long as he can before transferring his attention back to the café. Moriarty has gone inside and will be busy for some time, hopefully. Sherlock has checked it out and he can see why Moriarty might favour it. It's family run and all the staff are related and, according to his informant, they are not open to bribes of any kind. There is one door in and out unless you go through the kitchens, or climb a fence. The only place that offers any possibility are the toilets. Surprisingly luxurious and potentially offering a hiding place albeit a risky one. 

Sherlock moves from the window and grabs his lap top. It takes a bit of hacking before he's got the information that the car is registered to a Jan Simons. He notes the address and googles it. The place certainly has potential, it's a large château in acres of grounds with no near neighbours. He can't see any obvious security, but he knows it must be there. Sherlock settles down in his armchair to plan his attack.

~~~

John is reading in the study when Sherlock walks in and places a cup of tea by his side.

“Thanks, Simons,” John says and smiles up at him, his face going slowly white as he takes his first look at Sherlock.

“Don't let it go cold, sir,” Sherlock says and smoothly catches the book as it drops from John's hands. 

John's fists tighten imperceptibly and Sherlock steps back slightly all too aware of the power behind John's punch. “Will there be anything else?”

“A fucking explanation,” John says very, very quietly, tight lipped. He shakes his shoulder and slowly stands up facing Sherlock. “That will be all, Simons,” he says pleasantly and pushes Sherlock towards a door on the other side of the room opening the door and shoving Sherlock through it before closing the door.

Sherlock scans the area and searches for the light switch before perching himself on the lid of the toilet seat and waiting for John to join him. John makes him wait exactly five minutes before he enters.

“What the fuck do you think you are doing here?” he whispers. “It wouldn't surprise me to find that the whole damn house is wired for sound except possibly for these toilets and even then I'm not entirely certain.”

Sherlock opens his mouth to explain but John is gathering steam.

“When exactly were you going to let me know you were alive, you bastard? I grieved for you, I really grieved for you and you let me carry on missing you despite the fact that one single word from you would have eased it. Someone must have known, Mycroft of course, but no, the mighty Sherlock couldn’t spare a thought for his foolish friend. And now, what do you think you are achieving now? Do you think we are going to walk freely out of here and meander back to London. For god's sake Sherlock, what are you doing?”

Sherlock stands and grabs John and kisses him deeply. He feels John tense, then relax, then tense again before he slowly relaxes and kisses back as passionately. Sherlock eases back on the kiss and nips John's nose tenderly. “That's from both Mary and me,” he says and grins at John's expression. “We've agreed to share you.”

John shakes his head and licks his lips. “Right,” he says and rubs his face. “Right,” he repeats. “You've met Mary?”

Sherlock nods. “After she'd slapped me and shouted at me we got on like a house on fire.”

“Slapped you,” John murmurs and a small smile flickers on his face. “I'd like to have seen that. So, share?”

“We are both in love with you, you are in love with both of us, simple solution is that Mary and I share you,” Sherlock says succinctly. 

John blinks and shakes his head. “I did wonder if it was safe to drink the tea,” he says thoughtfully.

“Do concentrate, John,” Sherlock says sternly. “Are you monitored the whole time?”

“Not in the house although there's always someone around such as Simons keeping an eye on me. I'm fetched to go to the clinic and usually escorted by Moriarty elsewhere.”

“Do you go outside much?”

John shrugs. “I use the swimming pool and gymnasium daily, but they're really part of the house. I've taken to going horse riding. Not that I’m any great shakes in the saddle but it gets me out of here. Always got someone with me, usually a groom cum body guard.”

“How often?”

“When I'm not working at the clinic, and that varies according to need. Sherlock, what are you planning?”

“Getting you out of here and protecting Mary of course.”

“How exactly?”

“Does Moriarty tell you when he is going to Chéz Hénry?”

“Yes, but how do you know about it?”

“I saw you there and traced you via the car. Did you know it's registered in Simons' name?”

John shakes his head slowly. “Simons is very helpful but I've had my suspicions about him for some time. He's ex military, I can tell, and it wouldn't surprise me to find that he's more than he appears.” 

“Then don't make any changes at all to your routine. Moriarty goes to the restaurant about every two to three weeks according to the information I received.”

John nods. “It's fairly regular. I think they organise it via email.” 

“Then makes sure that the next time Moriarty goes to Chéz Hénry you go riding.” 

“OK,” John says slowly. “Will you be picking me up or arranging for some kind of incident?”

“I'll be at Chéz Hénry.”

“But that will put you in direct confrontation with Moriarty!” 

“And give Mycroft the opportunity of getting you away,” Sherlock shakes his head as John starts to argue. “Trust me, John.”

“You have no damn right to ask me that,” John says angrily.

“Please, John. There is a very high probability that Moriarty will want to rub my face in the fact that he has you and I can do nothing about it. He is therefore very unlikely to do me any real harm. Plus my presence, apparently due to me being betrayed by my informant, will momentarily reassure him that I'm still looking and haven’t as yet found you.”

“I’m not happy about it,” John says. “He could hurt you severely, Sherlock. Damn it, he could kill you!”

“Mycroft agrees that it is the best option.”

John rubs his head. “I knew I shouldn't have had the tea. I'm hallucinating that you just told me you asked Mycroft for advice.”

Sherlock grimaces. “He is carrying out your rescue and therefore we needed to confer.”

“Well that's all right then,” John says sarcastically. “He swans in with an army at his disposal and you go and meet the psychopath on your own.”

“You're living with the psychopath,” Sherlock says fiercely. “You tell me who is in the most danger.”

John sighs. “OK, lets summarise this shall we. You meet with Moriarty. He gloats and lets you go, hopefully undamaged. In the mean time Mycroft and his henchmen grab me from my horse and take off. Am I correct.?”

Sherlock nods.

“So are you going to get away before Moriarty is warned that his security has been breached?”

“Mycroft has assured me that all communication with the house will be monitored and intercepted as necessary.”

John nods. “I'll just go on being the good little house husband then shall I. I'm sure I can mange another three weeks. It's been nearly six months after all.” He shakes his head, glances at his watch and straightens his jumper. “I need to get out of here just in case. Please look after yourself, Sherlock and don't get caught.”

He gives Sherlock a quick hug, flushes the toilet and goes leaving the door open.

Sherlock stays hidden as he watches John gather his book and head out of the study. He has watched the house and mapped when people are over a number of weeks using an infra red scan. He knows the house inside out and he knows exactly where to stop and hide, where the best exits are and who comes in and out of the place on a regular basis. He's done a lot of sneaking around during the past two years and he's good at it. He makes his way slowly down to the drive and checks out the cars at the front. The man he hitched an, unknowing, ride from is still here. He checks for any observers and seeing none slides into the back of the car behind the driver and settles on the floor to wait for his passage out.

~~~

Sherlock allows Moriarty's men to pat him down for weapons and guide him towards the outdoor seating area of the café.

“Hello, sexy, looking good for a dead man,” Moriarty says peering over his sunglasses as Sherlock sits down next to him.

“One could say the same about you,” Sherlock replies. He orders a coffee from the waiter and settles himself more comfortably in the seat.

“You should try the bichon au citron, lovely pastries. John is rather fond of them so I have the chef pack me up a dozen each time I visit,” Moriarty says cheerfully.

“How delightfully domestic,” Sherlock says drily. “And why exactly do you care to make John happy?”

Moriarty grins. “Because when he's surprised and pleased but trying desperately to hide it's cute as hell to watch.”

“I'm sure John would be thrilled at that description.”

Moriarty affects a thoughtful pose. “Probably not, the darling boy gets a tinsy bit annoyed when I mention the word cute. You should see him when we entertain though. The ladies adore him.”

“You! Entertain!” Sherlock scoffs. 

“That's what couples do, Sherlock,” Moriarty says and grins fiercely. “They go out or have people round.”

“Normal couples, may be, but when have you ever been normal?”

“Normal, what an interesting word,” Moriarty says as the waiter arrives with coffee and pastries. “I don't know that a married couple consisting of a consulting criminal and a retired army doctor could ever be seen as normal.” he takes a sip of coffee and offers the plate of pastries to Sherlock. “Do try one, don't be shy!”

Sherlock waves the plate aside. “Let's stop playing shall we. Why have you taken John and what do you expect to gain from it?” 

Moriarty takes a bite of his pastry and hums in contentment. He takes a few more bites and washes it down with some coffee. “Delicious,” he says with no sign of mockery. “Gain? Let me see, respectability, an army doctor experienced in emergencies, a fun 'live in', more relaxed staff, kissing on demand. My Johnny's a damn good kisser, not that you'd know, would you.” Moriarty bares his teeth at Sherlock and finishes off his pastry.

“John was of no interest to you except as a weapon against me,” Sherlock says coldly annoyed by Moriarty's gloating, but reassured that Moriarty knows absolutely nothing of his visit to John. “I repeat, why this sudden kidnapping and playing about with John?”

Moriarty leans forward and stabs his finger at Sherlock violently his accent getting stronger as he rages. “There was no 'sudden' anything. I started planning when I realised just what you and that damn brother of your had done. Well played by the way, both of you. Such clever manipulation that I didn't see it for months. Sterling job, but it ends now. Daddy's back and he's not putting up with any more shit from you!”

Sherlock remains still and emotionless as Moriarty calms, sits back, smooths his suit trousers and takes another sip of coffee before saying. “Taking John doesn’t really make sense, Mycroft will do what he has to do with or without John as hostage.”

“Taking John gives me pleasure, deprives you of his company and HURTS you. I want to hurt you Sherlock, I want to hurt you very, very much,” Moriarty says and grins manically.

“Then hurt me, but leave John out of it,” Sherlock says quietly.

“And what would be the fun in that?” 

“Because you're hurting John by separating him from his friends and his fiancée.”

“Darling Johnny doesn’t know what's best for him,” Moriarty says placidly. “Such an intriguing little man under all that dull beige. Got a good body and wears clothes very well. He knows how to take orders and to give them. He's not BORING and he's mine now.”

“I want to see him,” Sherlock says.

“No,” Moriarty says and smiles fiercely. “You're not swanning back into Johnny's life and upsetting things. If I feel like it I'll send videos but from now on there is to be no contact from Miss Morstan and you will carry on playing dead to him.” He snaps his fingers and his lackeys return. “I won't be returning here again, which is a real pain because the pastries are divine and that makes me a little bit cross, Sherlock.” 

“Glad to have caused you some inconvenience,” Sherlock says glibly watching the lackeys carefully as they pull him to his feet. 

“Take him back to his hide out and then hurt him.” Moriarty instructs his men. He bares his teeth at Sherlock. “You'll be peeing blood for a bit my dear Sherlock. I'll think of your pain very fondly.” 

A waiter places a parcel on the table as Moriarty stands. He takes the box and walks towards a waiting car. “Hasta la vista, sexy.” 

As soon as Moriarty is in the car his lackeys push Sherlock toward his bedsit. He doesn’t resist for a few minutes until they are within a few metres of the door when he pulls violently on the arms holding him and propels the two men forward. The slope towards the door helps in increasing their speed to such a point that they are unable to stop their forward momentum without releasing his arms. He chops at their necks and kicks their feet out from under them watching them fall before turning smartly and running towards the village square where his car, a souped up engine underneath a battered bonnet, is parked. The expression of fear on their faces as he speeds past the pair of them staggering to their feet remains with him for miles.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for delay in posting. I'm still recovering from Series 3 (oh my giddy aunt!) and girding my loins for the, more than likely, long wait for Series 4.


	6. For ever and ever?

“He doesn’t want to give evidence.”

“So I understand.”

“Moriarty kept him apart from his business. He never knew the surnames of any of the people he mixed with and he has no records of treating any of their employees.”

“What about the charge of kidnapping and coercion?”

“Far to easily negated by good lawyers, of which I have no doubt Moriarty has many,” John says as he enters the room. “Good morning Mycroft. Was there anything you wished to ask me or are you going to continue addressing all you questions to Sherlock?”

“John,” Mycroft nods majestically. “I wasn’t aware that you were coming over.”

“That's a first,” John says pleasantly. “Mary's in Birmingham on a course and I'm staying with Sherlock for a couple of days.”

“I see, are you happy to discuss Moriarty's trial?” Mycroft inquires.

“Not particularly,” John says passing a bag to Sherlock and perching on the arm of his chair. “But please do go ahead and ask what you need to.”

“Flavour?” Sherlock enquires, placing the bag gently on the table.

“Coffee and walnut.”

“Mary is a saint,” Sherlock says with appreciation.

“Surely you wish to get some recompense?” Mycroft asks, ignoring the by play.

John shrugs. “Sure he kidnapped me, married me against my will (the annulment came thorough a few weeks ago by the way) and deprived me of my freedom, but otherwise he ensured that my every need was catered for and he never harmed me. Plus he has numerous witnesses he could find to attest to that. I don't think that my experiences will be of any help to the prosecution at all and I have no intention of attending the trial whatsoever.”

“I see, I will ensure that your name is kept out of the court.”

“Thank you,” John says. “Can I offer you tea, or are you going?”

Mycroft rises from the chair and straightens his suit. “Thank you, but I need to get on. Good day to you both.”

John watches him leave before turning to Sherlock and asking. “Can I trust him to keep me out of it?”

“He'll certainly try.”

“How about ensuring that the Jury aren't nobbled like last time?”

“There's enough evidence now that Moriarty tampered with the last jury. The police can make a case that even with their protection there is a substantial likelihood that he will do it again.” 

“So they can ask for a trial without a jury in the interests of justice. Good. I don't want to see him get off scot-free like he did last time,” John says and heads for the kitchen. “Have you got any milk or do I need to go shopping?”

“Don't use the stuff in the semi skinned bottle,” Sherlock says.

“Do I want to know why?” John enquires opening the fridge and checking that there are indeed two bottles of milk.

“Doubtful.”

John grins to himself and starts to make the tea. He looks up as Sherlock strolls into the kitchen. 

“Mary's okay about you staying over without her?” Sherlock asks.

“You saw the fudge. Mind you, she did suggest that we video anything we get up to so she can enjoy it when she gets back!”

“A saint and a sinner, quite a woman your Mary,” Sherlock says appreciatively. “I see she persuaded you to get the highlights again.”

John shakes his head mournfully. “Got to have them for the wedding as well. And talking about the wedding, we need to sort out our morning suits.”

“I know just the man,” Sherlock says.

“Good, though why we need to be dressed so formally I don’t know.”

“Because Mary and I both appreciate what a fine figure you make in a good suit, John.”

John laughs and gets back to making the tea. “And you know that you look damn good in anything, even a sheet. Okay, so we can get measured up while Mary's away. I'm keeping out of all the rest of the organising and letting Mary and her mum enjoy it. If she ask you for advice on anything please decline or she'll invade here as well and they'll be no where wedding free!”

“Hmm. Let me see,” Sherlock says as he checks his phone. “So far she's asked me to ensure that you look fit to eat, what I think about the colour of the bridesmaid dresses and to advise on seating arrangements in the marquee.”

“Please, for the love of god don't go there,” John begs.

“I am forever in Mary's debt so I’m afraid I will be going there.” Sherlock says semi seriously.

John sighs. “Fine, just keep me out of it.” He pours out two mugs and hands one to Sherlock. “One more thing before we leave off the wedding. Mary wants me to make absolutely sure that you don't want to accompany us on the honeymoon.” He laughs ruefully. “I can't believe I just said that.”

“Positive, bless her. Sun and sea is not too my taste and you two need quality time together without me getting in the way. What? Why are you looking at me like that?”

John laughs and hugs him tight. “And to think I once said you didn't have a heart. Sherlock Holmes, you are amazing and I love you. Thank you for being you, for liking Mary so much, for loving me, for never giving up, for being a right prat, for everything.”

Sherlock wraps his arms around John and hugs back. “I'll always be there for you and by extension Mary,” he says seriously. “Always, whatever happens in the future.”

John pulls Sherlock's head down and kisses him thoroughly, stopping only when the sound of a throat being cleared nearby enters his conscious. He gives Sherlock one last peck and turns to meet Greg Lestrade. Glancing at his face he shakes his head and looks up at Sherlock. 

“There is a doorbell you know, or you could knock.” Sherlock says brusquely. “And before you say anything to upset John I would point out that were Mary here she'd be scoring us out of ten and then demanding we swap.”

“I'd give it an eight,” John says reflectively. “Hi, Greg, what can we do for you?”

“Swap?” Greg says looking between them. “Swap, as in exchange partners or something?”

“Congratulations, you understand the concept of swap,” Sherlock retorts and sweeps past him.

John gives Greg a rueful look. “Mary and I are still very much in love and getting married in three months time, Greg as you well know since you and Molly have been invited to the wedding.”

“Then what did I just see?”

“That I'm in love with Sherlock as well, and him with me and, prompted by Mary I might add because none of this would be happening without her expressed permission and eagerness to explore, we're negotiating a threesome.”

“But I thought Sherlock didn’t do relationships?” Greg stutters

“I'm not usually interested, not that it's any of your business,” Sherlock snaps from the living room. “Did you come up here to criticise our conduct or to ask for help?”

“Threesome with Sherlock Holmes, god what a thought!” Greg mutters, and grimaces apologetically at John who pretends he hasn't heard. “Right, we have this apparent suicide...”

“Give me the address and John and I will meet you there,” Sherlock says impatiently and grabs his coat and sweeps through the door.

“In love with Sherlock, seriously?” Greg appeals to John.

“'Fraid so,” John says apologetically. “Come on, give me the address or we'll never hear the end of it.”

“I think I need a couple of shots of whisky,” Greg says as he follows John down the stairs and out into the street.

John claps him on the back and joins Sherlock on the pavement. 

~~~

Jim Moriarty steps into the suit trousers with a pout of distaste and makes sure that the padded bum cheeks are sitting right.

“Sounds good so far,” he says checking that the guard still has his back to them. He may have been bribed but Jim knows it is best if the man can honestly say he saw nothing. He glances up at the flashing light on the camera with satisfaction. He knows they're on a loop because he set it up this morning.

His lawyer has less to dress in and is pulling off his false moustache as he speaks. “Good,' he says, “Read further please.”

Jim pushes his feet into the shoes, they have lifts and he feels a little off balance with the extra height. He then buckles the padded stomach into position and buttons up the shirt and does up the tie before shrugging on the jacket. 

“And take note of this point here,” his lawyer says as they exchange places at the table. 

The false moustache is simple and the glasses clear. He puts the pads in his cheeks to make his face looker fatter and checks that everything looks OK in the make up mirror his lawyer secreted in his pocket. 

The lawyer's voice takes on an Irish tang to it and Moriarty nods feeling odd with the added stuffing in his mouth.

“Everything appears to be in order,” he says after a few more minutes after both men have double checked each other to ensure that there are no obvious errors and pushes his chair back. “Those seats are damn uncomfortable.”

“And you so well padded,” his lawyer quips.

Jim smiles, collects the papers together and places a letter written on prison writing paper in the inside pocket of his jacket before knocking on the cell door. “See you in a weeks time,” he says as he walks out. 

The guards check his bag and walk him through the corridors to the exit. He exchanges pleasantries with the man at the door and walks out into the light of London on a drizzly Monday afternoon. A taxi, with the for hire light switched off, stops by him and he climbs in and sits back as the driver about turns.

He removes the pressed suit hanging from the hook and checks that his shoes and socks are present. Once satisfied he shakes out a paper bag from the pocket, takes off the glasses, pulls off the moustache and removes the pads from his mouth dropping all three in the bag.

Jim knocks on the dividing panel and the driver lowers it. “Have these burnt,” he orders dropping the bag on the front seat. “And stop by the nearest post office and get me an envelope and a first class stamp when I've finished changing.”

The driver nods, raises the dividing panel and carries on driving for another ten minutes while Jim removes the padded suit and slowly dresses himself in his own made to measure Saville Row suit. Once dressed and shod to his comfort, Jim sits back and hums as the driver halts the car by the nearest post office and purchases the required items presenting them to him with a fountain pen.

Jim takes the envelope and writes _Dr John Watson, 221B Baker Street, London. W1_ on the front. He licks the stamp and places it firmly in the right hand corner before finally taking the letter from his inside pocket, opening it and reading softly to himself.

_My dearest Johnny boy_

_I was so disappointed not to see your delightful face in court it really made me feel sad. :-( Of course, on the bright side I didn't have to hear you say nasty things about me either. Sexy and Mycroft were present of course. Mycroft must have threatened his little brother with something very boring and nasty because he was almost polite, not to me of course, but to the judge and the lawyers._

_As I'm sure you know, I was given a life sentence. Such an impressive list they read out, you would have been so appalled and cross. I like making you look cross, your face looks so cute._

_I read about your wedding. Managed to get a picture of you as well, you looked very tasty all dressed up. It hurts me to think that you could forget our marriage so easily but I guess you thought there was no future in it if I was locked away._

_I've heard rumours that you are sleeping with Sexy as well. Johnny darling, I am so SHOCKED! Obviously when we are together again I'll have to punish you for such disloyalty and for being a naughty little minx. But don't you worry, darling, once you've begged forgiveness and understood how hurt daddy was I'll look after you again._

_Hugs and kisses_

_Your own dear husband,_

“Kissy, kissy,” Jim says as he signs his name with a flourish and places three x's after it. He then places the letter in the envelope and seals it. “How I wish I could see your face when you read this, Johnny boy.”

He raps on the dividing panel again. “Stop by the nearest post box,” he orders and sits back in the taxi with a smile of satisfaction on his face.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to daughter who read (gulp), enjoyed (yay!) and pointed out my mistakes (oops!).

**Author's Note:**

> I finally manage to get my Sherlock creative juices going just as series 3 is about to air on the Beeb and create new canon... but such is life. :-)
> 
> I've not written for ages and my regular beta and I have dropped out of contact, any one interested?


End file.
